I guess it's like that..
Step out the front door like a ghost
Into the fog where no one notices
The contrast of white on white.
And in between the moon and you
Angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.
I walk in the air between the rain,
Through myself and back again.
Where? I don't know
Maria says she's dying.
Through the door, I hear her crying
Why? I don't know
Round here we always stand up straight
Round here something radiates
Into the fog where no one notices
The contrast of white on white.
And in between the moon and you
Angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.
I walk in the air between the rain,
Through myself and back again.
Where? I don't know
Maria says she's dying.
Through the door, I hear her crying
Why? I don't know
Round here we always stand up straight
Round here something radiates
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